


What a feeling to be a king beside you

by orphan_account



Series: I've really got my heart out on my sleeve [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Issues, Established Relationship, Facials, M/M, Mirror Sex, Rimming, Shower Sex, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 11:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7434657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years deep into their domestic bliss, everyone is moving forward. Lafayette starts making his life in the States permanent, John and his father keep working at their relationship, Thomas and Alexander stumble awkwardly toward each other, and there is finally a wedding.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Lafayette drags John out of bed the next morning, plies him with the expensive, free-trade coffee that he likes, and lets him drowse against him on the train uptown to the clerk’s office. They apply for their marriage license together, Lafayette’s fingers still stiff from the cold, and John’s hand shaking as he signs his name.</i></p><p>  <i>“Are you sure?” Lafayette asks after they step away from the counter.</i></p><p>  <i>“I’m not scared or unsure or… whatever,” John says quietly, leaning up to kiss him. “I can’t wait, Gil.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What a feeling to be a king beside you

**Author's Note:**

> John's relationship with his father still isn't the best but it's much improved (they fight about other things now). Still might be iffy to read if parents not handling coming out super well is a sensitive subject.
> 
> Edited on 8.14.16 to include details from (what is now) part two, "I know the sun will be rising back home".

He could scream. Literally take the deepest breath that his lungs could manage, open his mouth, and just fucking scream. New York traffic is aggravating at best and fucking impossible at worst. This is beyond the worst. The cab that Lafayette had hailed when his train stopped and just never started moving again, has gone roughly one mile in fifteen minutes. He checks his phone again. 

7:58pm

Two unread texts from John since he last looked.

> John (7:55): Where the fuck are you?  
>  John (7:56): I’m gonna kill you.

Lafayette rubs at his eyes. He’s twenty-eight minutes late for dinner with John and his father. He never should have taken the meeting with a potential modeling agency, not when he knew he had this coming up. Fuck. His phone buzzes again. 8:00pm 

> John (8:00): You’re freaking me out. Where are you???

He starts typing. _Meeting ran way late. I caught a cab, thought it would be faster. Stuck in traffic._

> John (8:01): You couldn’t respond to any of my other fifty texts asking where you were?

then immediately: 

> John (8:01): Please hurry. Gil, I’m dying here. I need you.

“Fuck,” Lafayette says, locking his phone and shifting in the seat to pull out his wallet. He knocks on the partition to get the driver’s attention. “I’m going to walk.” He hands over two twenties and throws open the cab door. He’s a good twenty minute walk away from the Soho restaurant that John’s father had chosen to meet them at, and the temperature is hovering right around freezing.

He swallows the urge to scream and starts up the sidewalk.

 

\--

 

He’s just over an hour late when he’s lead to the table occupied by a stressed-looking John, and his unamused-looking father. John gets to his feet as he approaches, looking relieved and like he wants to jam his fork into his neck at the same time.

“My apologies,” Lafayette says sincerely. “My misfortunes today have been non-stop.”

Henry takes his proffered hand and shakes it with all the enthusiasm of a dead man. Lafayette kisses John briefly, squeezing the back of his neck in apology, before shrugging his coat and scarf, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting down.

“At least you manage to come looking put together,” Henry says, leaning back in his seat and gesturing to John with one hand. “Some of us chose to wear jeans to the dinner with our father at a five star restaurant.”

“Daddy,” John says, rubbing at his temple. “They’re fucking designer, what more do you want?”

Lafayette flicks his eyes over toward John and then back to the wine menu.

“A suit. I thought that was fairly evident.”

Lafayette puts his hand on John’s thigh under the table and John keeps his mouth shut. A waiter approaches and Lafayette orders a strong wine, mimicking John’s steak order so as not to waste even more time looking at the entrées. He waits until his wine glass is filled and he’s taken a rather sizable drink before he feels prepared to speak again.

Dinners with Henry and John are like refereeing a fight between two feral cats. Where he’d once anticipated having to defend John, non-stop, to his father, he now spends these meals deflecting the thinly veiled insults they trade like compliments.

“So, where have you been the last hour, Lafayette?” Henry asks him, leaned back in his seat and staring at him.

“I had a meeting with a US-based modeling agency.” He sips his wine.

Henry nods; Lafayette can see the way he turns that over and over, looking for the best way to dig into it. “Planning to leave your current agent?”

Lafayette blinks; he isn’t nearly so venomous as he usually is. “Ahh, possibly,” Lafayette offers. “It’s hard to fulfill obligations of European shoots when I live here the majority of the year.”

John takes his hand and Lafayette brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it. Henry is studying his wine glass when he looks back.

“So you’re planning to stay here, then?” Henry asks. “Permanently, I mean. What with your engagement and all.”

Lafayette shifts in his seat. This has been a touchy subject between himself and John ever since he’d put that ring on his finger. 

“We are still discussing our options,” Lafayette deflects.

Henry swirls his wine around before taking a sip, looking at John the whole time.

“So,” Henry says, steepling his fingers together. “Could you even practice law in France?” he asks his son.

“Daddy,” John says warningly. “Not now. Please. You said you’d be nice.”

Henry holds his hands open. “I’m asking you about your plans for the future.”

“You’re baiting me.”

“I want to know what you plan to do with yourself after your bar exam,” Henry says. “I’ve been paying for your Ivy League education for the past five years, I think I have a right to ask what you intend to do with it.”

John glances at Lafayette and, honestly, he can’t parse the look in John’s eyes. Lafayette’s eyebrows bunch in confusion and he tilts his head at John. But John only looks back at his father.

“I’m not taking the bar exam.”

The low noise of the restaurant goes on around them, quiet conversation, ambient clicking of cutlery, the pleasant sound of live piano somewhere off behind them, and Lafayette’s own breathing in his ears. John hasn’t said a word of this to him. Henry looks between the two of them before settling his gaze on his son.

“Excuse me?” he asks, voice calm but deadly sharp.

“John, what are you meaning? Your exam is next month,” Lafayette says, tugging on his hand to get his attention.

John only looks at him a moment before back at his father. 

“I don’t want to be a lawyer, daddy.”

“Oh my god,” Lafayette whispers to himself. Henry closes his eyes a moment before refocusing them on John.

“You tell me this _now?_ After the _tens of thousands_ of dollars it took for me to send you to Columbia—“

“I told you, when you first insisted that I study law, that I didn’t want to do this. I still don’t want to do this,” John says, tugging his hand away from Lafayette and folding his arms against his chest like a sullen teenager.

Lafayette leans his elbow on the table and rubs his forehead a moment. They’re about to become a spectacle. 

“Did you know about this?” Henry asks him suddenly, voice still pitched low. 

“Non, he did not tell me this before now.”

“Right,” Henry says. “Throw away four years of world-class education for fucking _nothing_. Why don’t you just give up school altogether? Why not just take off your fucking clothes and go model for fucking _art_ students like your boyfriend here?”

“Fiancé,” John says. 

There is a vein that bisects Henry’s forehead that throbs there whenever he’s furious; Lafayette has only seen it twice before this, and he isn’t thrilled to see its resurgence now. 

“I want to go back to studying medicine again,” John continues after a moment of hellaciously tense silence. He looks serious and his tone is sincere; Lafayette knows that John had spent a year doing premed studies before he’d turned his attention to law, but that had been before Lafayette had even met him. He’d never given any indication that he wanted to go back to it.

Henry shakes his head, balling up his napkin and tossing it on the table. “This is a fucking joke. You are a fucking joke, John.”

“Henry,” Lafayette says warningly. “Don’t.”

There is a moment where it looks like Henry is going to spit something vicious at him as well, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. He shoves his chair back and stands, straightening his jacket, and walking away without so much as a backward glance.

John sits still a moment before he too pushes away from the table; he heads toward the restroom instead of following his father, weaving his way quickly through the tables. Lafayette is torn, wanting to go to John, but he follows after his father.

“Henry,” Lafayette calls, voice loud but not so loud as to attract much attention. Henry is standing on the sidewalk, staring down at his phone with a sour expression on his face. He doesn’t look up at the sound of his name.

“Henry, come back inside,” Lafayette tells him. “You need to discuss this with your son.”

“Fuck you,” Henry says, smacking his hand away when Lafayette reaches toward him. “John would never have turned away from his career path if you hadn’t encouraged him.”

Lafayette shoves his arm back down when he raises it to hail a cab. Henry’s eyes are full of rage when they turn back on him. 

“I did no such thing,” Lafayette says seriously. “I had no idea John was even thinking this; he didn’t tell me. If he had, do you really think I would have assured him it was a good idea to tell you _here?_ ”

Henry hesitates a moment, grinding his teeth. He takes a step closer to Lafayette, too close to be comfortable. Lafayette is taller than he is by a few inches, but he still finds himself drawing up to his full height. The man is threatening, despite his size. 

“Jack used to be such a good boy,” he says, voice pitched low. “He used to listen to me, because I know what’s best for him, and he trusted that.”

“Maybe that was once true, when he was a boy, but it hasn’t been for a long time.”

Henry runs a hand through his hair, graying at the temples and curling just slightly around his ears. “You think you know him better than me?”

“If I do, it’s only because I listen to him better than you do,” Lafayette says quietly. “I love him dearly. I want to see him happy.”

“You think I don’t? You think I didn’t have to put aside my fucking anger over him being gay? I never would have accepted that if I didn’t love him. I wouldn’t accept him living with _you_ ,” he jabs his finger into Lafayette’s chest, “I wouldn’t have to set aside time for your fucking _wedding_ if I didn’t love my boy.”

“You are too hard on him, Henry. You are trying not to be, I know that, but you are still awful to him.” Henry turns his back and paces a few steps away. “I will talk to him about his bar exam,” Lafayette says, following behind him. “I will hope that he takes it as much as you will, but I cannot control him any more than you can. You must try to understand that next, Henry.” 

Henry doesn’t look back at him for a moment and Lafayette tucks his hands into his pockets. It’s even colder now than when Lafayette had walked the dozens of blocks to get here, snow threatening overhead, and the wind whips bitterly around them (he thinks longingly of his jacket inside). But they still stand there like statues, waiting on Henry to reach a conclusion.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Non, you come back inside with me; you talk to him now.” Henry gives him a skeptical look with a raised eyebrow. “He will not sleep tonight if you do not and neither will you, if you have even half a heart in there.”

It seems for a moment that Henry is going to tell him to fuck off and just leave, but, instead, he steps back to Lafayette. “This is hard for me,” he says, voice low but not unkind. “All of it. I couldn’t disown Jack when he came out because I love him too damn much, but that’s where I was at, you understand me?”

Lafayette nods. “I know where you were. I know how far you’ve come, but it’s been years, Henry. John needs you to go further.”

Henry studies him for a moment before he starts heading back into the building.

 

\--

 

Lafayette has to collect John from the bathroom, where he’d sunk down on a couch in the entryway, looking like someone had just sucked all of the air out of him. And at the end of the evening, Henry pays for dinner and hugs his son goodbye. He takes Lafayette by the arm, before he can follow John into their taxi, and holds him there on the sidewalk.

His voice is quiet, just meant for Lafayette, when he speaks. “I do think you’re good for him,” he says. Lafayette blinks in surprise, holding very still in his grasp. “I don’t hate Jacky for what he is,” he continues, just as quietly. “And I don’t hate you either.”

Lafayette feels for a moment as though someone has told him that unicorns are real. It takes a moment for him to find his bearing. 

“I hope that one day you and I can care for one another as family does,” Lafayette says back, just as quietly.

Henry lets go of his arm and holds his hand between them; Lafayette shakes it and accepts the squeeze to his bicep before he slides into the cab.

 

\--

 

“So he told you he didn’t hate you? Wow. He might as well have just called you ‘son’ and written you into his will right then and there.”

Lafayette gives Thomas a less than impressed look. “Your insight is just so helpful.”

“Come on,” Thomas groans, getting to his feet to refill his wine glass. Lafayette doesn’t move his legs to let him pass and Thomas holds his middle finger up in his face as he climbs over them. “The man is a prick,” he continues once he’s returned to the couch, bottle in hand. 

“He’s still John’s father.”

“Doesn’t make him _your_ father.”

“No, but he will be my father-in-law, and it will be important to John that we get on.” Lafayette offers his half-full glass to Thomas, who tops it off before settling back against the armrest and drinking straight from the bottle.

Thomas has his lips pursed like he does whenever he’s thinking about something, but he doesn’t offer anything else, so Lafayette goes on.

“John and I are eloping.”

Thomas jerks upright. “Whaaaat? Y’all can’t do that! I’m supposed to be your best man!”

Lafayette laughs. “I never ask you that.”

“Yeah, but you were gonna.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely. Come on, man, what the hell? Where are you going? _When_ are you going?” 

Lafayette flaps a hand at him. “I don’t think we’re supposed to discuss it, are we?”

“You need to tell your wounded, former best man the details. Or you shouldn’t have brought it up in the first damn place,” Thomas gripes, taking another, longer drink from the bottle.

“He finishes with finals tomorrow. We’ve been planning to go to Nice, but now, with his father seemingly coming around on it… I mean, he actually say to me that he was going to put aside time for our wedding.” He looks at Thomas who merely arches an eyebrow at him, as if to say _so?_ “He wants to be there for John. He’s trying. If we just leave, then how will he react?”

Thomas’s face crunches up as he sets the wine bottle down on the coffee table. “Who _are_ you? Is this the same man who had ‘why not?’ engraved on his fiancé’s engagement ring?” He smacks Lafayette’s shoulder hard enough that it actually hurts.

“Ow. Ass.”

“You’re an ass. Look, Henry Laurens is a dick. Straight up. He’s no good for you to be planning your life around and he’s sure as shit not good for his kid.”

“But John loves him. I cannot exclude him.”

“Like hell you can’t. He’s had a hand on the wheel ever since you met John.”

Lafayette groans and rubs at his face, hot from all the wine he’s drank since Thomas arrived. They should have stopped a bottle and a half ago, but once Lafayette started talking about the issues with John’s father, Thomas had kept pouring. “I cannot think like this.”

Thomas claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “You remember when y’all two broke up?”

Lafayette groans louder. “Don’t remind me.”

“His dad was the driving force behind that too, wasn’t he?” Lafayette nods behind his hands. “And you, with your sensitive French heart, moped and cried, and drank my wine and slept in my bed, and played house with poor little John André in the interim. I saw his dad frequently, at fundraisers, after that. He was happy as a pig in shit when he thought John was done with your ass.” 

Lafayette cracks his fingers apart and looks at him. “He’s trying to do better.”

Thomas throws up his hands and slumps back against the armrest again. “All I’m sayin’… he’s always gonna hurt your boy, because people like him never change. Not entirely. He’s always gonna think about you rolling his baby boy over and fucking him with your uncircumcised, French dick.”

The door slams and Alexander stands there with John, face scrunched up like he’s just seen and smelled something particularly unpleasant. “You are such a garbage person. How do you function?”

Thomas stretches his arms over his head and grins back, showing his teeth; he looks like a shark. “Easily and happily, you little Caribbean—“

Lafayette tosses a throw pillow at his head and Thomas catches it, dropping it to the floor and reaching for the wine again.

“How did it go?”

“Very eventful,” John says coming around the side of the couch to kiss him. “Most extensive cram session of my life.”

Thomas snorts. “I bet that’s not true.”

“You’re disgusting,” Alexander calls as he heads into the kitchen. 

“Just make yourself at home, little man!” Thomas shouts.

“You don’t live here either, you know,” John says, looking over at him. Lafayette takes his face in both hands and guides him down into another kiss. Thomas’s feet kick at him but he doesn’t stop until John does. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Can I come?”

John kisses his forehead. “You have company.”

“He can leave.”

“Rude. Come on, Laurens, let your man take that stick out of your ass and replace it with his dick.”

Alexander returns with a beer and a cheese stick. “Next time you’re sending John dick pics, you might want to include your secret admirer here.”

“I’m going to shower,” John repeats. Lafayette gives him a hopeful look and John rolls his eyes, holding out his hand. Lafayette leaps up from the couch to take it and lets himself be lead away.

“Not so loud, yeah?” Thomas calls after them. “I still wanna eat after this and I can’t do it if you make me puke beforehand.”

 

\--

 

Undressing John will never lose its novelty. Lafayette loves every moment of it, stripping away John’s shirt and touching his chest, his arms, kissing him as he opens his belt and pushes his jeans off his narrow hips. John is small and lovely and there is nothing about his body that Lafayette doesn’t like. He mouths at the patch of freckles on one shoulder as the shower heats up the room, and John clings to him.

“You like being dressed when I’m naked.”

“Perhaps,” Lafayette says, pulling back to kiss him on the mouth. “Perhaps I would like to fuck you one day when I am dressed and you are not.”

John pushes him gently away and climbs into the shower. “Perhaps I’ll let you. One day.”

Lafayette strips down quickly and follows him inside, sliding the shower door shut behind him. He washes John’s hair for him, lathering it with shampoo while John keeps his eyes closed and traces his fingertips down Lafayette’s stomach to touch teasingly at his cock. John strokes him lightly, gently squeezes his balls and scratches his fingers through his pubic hair, before he moves on to touch his thighs, humming in content as Lafayette rubs his scalp.

“Wicked little thing,” Lafayette tells him, dropping his hands to hold his waist. “Rinse.”

They kiss for what feels like ages under the hot spray, hips rubbing together with no real urgency. Lafayette could do this forever. He reaches down to squeeze John’s slick ass cheeks and pull him up on his toes; he kisses him harder as their cocks grind together.

“We should hurry before the water goes cold,” John murmurs against his mouth, voice entirely breathless. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Lafayette says, making John moan and buck his hips unsteadily.

“Tonight. We’ve both got guests waiting on us.”

“They can wait longer,” Lafayette whispers, biting at his ear.

John leans in to sink his teeth into Lafayette’s shoulder as he drops a hand between them to squeeze and stroke him off. “Tonight, I promise. I’ll spread you out in bed and I’ll lick you out until you’re shaking and begging me for it.”

“ _John_ ,” Lafayette gasps, fisting John’s cock unsteadily.

“Then I’ll work you open on my fingers, get you dripping wet, and push my cock in.”

“Yes. John, yes, please.”

John’s finger slides down his crack to press against his hole. Lafayette has to muffle a cry in John’s neck as his hips buck forward. 

“You like that. You like it thick, stretching you open. You like it when I get you on your knees and fuck you so hard that you cry for it. Don’t you? Don’t you?”

“ _Yes_ , darling, yes, _fuck_ ,” Lafayette sobs, his cock pulsing, shooting over John’s fingers, his entire body shaking with it. John strokes him until he pushes his hand away, the exposed head of his cock far too sensitive for it.

He drops to his knees, as carefully as he can, and sucks John’s cock into his mouth. He has just enough time to remind himself that this will be inside of him tonight, and then John is coming, biting his own forearm to muffle himself. Lafayette spits into the water rushing toward the drain and draws himself back to his feet. John kisses him until the shower starts to run lukewarm.

John dresses in flannel pajama bottoms that he’s appropriated from Lafayette, and a plain gray v-neck before he shoves his feet in his ugly slippers.

“I thought we were taking our friends out for dinner tonight,” Lafayette says, still standing naked in front of his side of the dresser.

John eyes him up and presses against his back, still shower-warm. “Can we order in? It’s so cold outside and I was at the library for hours. I just wanna relax with you.”

“And Thomas and Alexander,” Lafayette says, finally grabbing a pair of boxer-briefs and tugging them up his legs.

John sits at the foot of the bed and watches him pull on a pair of sweatpants and a washed-soft t-shirt. He looks smug. Lafayette tries to kiss the expression off of his face. 

“If they haven’t killed one another by now, we can order in.”

John kisses him again and gets to his feet. Lafayette follows him more slowly, bringing a pair of socks with him. Thomas is sprawled on the couch, still, nursing the same bottle of wine, while Alexander is perched on the breakfast nook counter, reading something on his phone.

“Off,” Lafayette says, smacking his thigh on his way passed. “Were you raised in a barn?”

“Almost,” Thomas crows from the couch. “What was it? A tiki hut on the beach, Hamilton?”

“Fuck you,” Alexander says, following Lafayette’s instruction and hopping down. “I thought we were going out?” he asks.

“John wants to order in. If the two of you can behave together in private, we may, one day, take you out in public.” Lafayette digs for the takeout menus John stashes around the kitchen. “I’m taking suggestions,” he calls.

“Whatever is fine with me,” Alexander says with a shrug and goes to drop down in the nearest armchair.

John knocks Thomas’s feet off the couch. “Sit up, you hedonistic pig,” he admonishes, “and stop insulting Alex or you’re out of the wedding.”

Lafayette hands the stack of menus over to John with a kiss to his temple. “Order a lot. I am very hungry.”

“Yes, babe.”

Thomas gags and Lafayette takes the wine bottle from him as it makes its way toward his mouth again. “We’re going to switch you to water.”

“Whatever, man. And I thought there wasn’t gonna be a wedding,” Thomas says. Lafayette sends him a wide-eyed look of panic, but John has already heard him, and so has Alexander.

“What do you mean?” he asks, sitting upright. “What does he mean? Why won’t there be a wedding?”

John’s look tells him he’s likely sleeping on the couch tonight. “You told him?” 

“Told him what?” Alexander presses.

Lafayette begs forgiveness through a series of facial expressions and John’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “Jacky, please don’t be angry,” he whispers. “He is my best friend.”

“We hadn’t agreed to tell anyone yet,” John says, voice pitched low. 

“Ahh, shit,” Thomas says, pushing himself into a sitting position, though he’s still leaning against the armrest; he rubs a hand against his face. “Laurens, I’m sorry, man, I thought Hamilton would know.”

“He didn’t,” John snaps.

“What don’t I know?” Alexander finally shouts, smacking his hands against the chair’s armrests.

Neither John nor Lafayette himself speaks, unwilling to look away from the other. John is glaring daggers and Lafayette’s face is crumpling. It’s Thomas who leans around the two of them to look at Alexander.

“They’re eloping.”

Alexander, for once in his life, says nothing. Lafayette takes the stack of menus from John and tosses them onto the couch. “Order something,” he says before taking John’s hand and pulling him back down the hall into their bedroom.

John folds his arms against his chest as his face settles into something that can only be described as bitchy. Lafayette feels himself deflate instantly.

“John, please, come on. Thomas is my best friend, of course I would tell him,” he implores for understanding.

“You didn’t ask me first. We didn’t even talk about it,” John snaps.

“I did not think I had to check with you first. I have no family to tell, John, I have only my friends to share such news with.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” he asks. “Jefferson works with my father sometimes. I don’t want my dad to know, yet.”

“Thomas would not tell him,” Lafayette says seriously. “Hurting you would hurt me and he knows this. He also does not like your father.”

John groans, letting it get louder as he stomps his foot, and Lafayette wraps him in his arms, resting his chin on the top of John’s head. “Don’t be angry with me. You would have told Alexander soon, regardless.” John makes a non-committal noise against the hollow of his throat and settles his hands on Lafayette’s hips.

“I just don’t want my dad to know.”

“Are you rethinking it?”

“What?” he asks, jerking back. “Of course not.”

“I don’t mean the wedding,” Lafayette says, stroking his damp hair back behind his ears. “I mean eloping.”

John hesitates for just long enough that Lafayette knows the truth, regardless of whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “I want to marry you as soon as we can.”

“That is not what I ask,” Lafayette says gently, holding his face carefully between his hands and stroking his cheeks with both thumbs. “It is all right if you want to change some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe you wish your father to be there.” John rolls his eyes. “He tell me he wants to come. That he will set aside time to be there.”

John scoffs, pushing Lafayette’s hands away. “He says that now but you know damn well that something will come up and he won’t show up and then I’ll be pissed off and hurt and… is that really how you wanna remember our wedding day?”

Lafayette lets his hands fall away as John backs himself toward the bed and sits on the edge of it. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what the right answer is. He truly believes that his father is trying to do better by his son, but a large part of him knows that John is right to be skeptical. If Henry _did_ bail and leave John waiting for him on what will arguably be the most important day of their lives…

Lafayette drops to his knees and puts his forehead on John’s thigh. 

“I don’t know what to do, Jacky,” he says, curling both hands around his knees. “I just want to make you happy.”

John’s fingers card through his hair, tugging at the wet mass of curls. He hears John sigh. 

“You do make me happy,” he tells him before he groans. “I don’t know what to do either.”

“I thought eloping would make this easier for us.”

John snorts and tips his head up with a gentle handful of his hair. “What has ever been easy where my father’s involved?” he asks. 

Lafayette wishes, more than anything, that there was a way to make this simple for John, to make his father find his sense sooner. He stares up at him as John strokes his hair and cups his cheeks, until someone bangs on the door.

“Food’ll be here in twenty. If you’re gonna fuck again, make it quick. Otherwise, get out here and bring your wallet; I ain’t paying for Hamilton.”

Lafayette collapses with his face between John’s thighs and John curls down over him, rubbing at his back with both hands.

“I hate him.”

“Shush,” Lafayette says, getting to his feet and pulling John to his. “You need to eat and go to bed so that you are fresh for your final exam tomorrow.” Lafayette ruffles his hair and John swats at his hands as he makes for the door, earning himself a swat on the ass for his trouble.

 

\--

 

“Babe,” John’s voice rasps near his ear. Lafayette hums a questioning sound at him but doesn’t open his eyes. “Can you get me water? Please?” he sounds absolutely pathetic.

The completion of John’s law studies had been celebrated with their usual group of friends, plus Thomas, and John had drunk himself stupid. Lafayette had never had to carry him to bed before, but there apparently really is a first time for everything. Now he’s awake, only an hour after Lafayette had locked up, both Alexander and Thomas making themselves at home for the night in the living room. 

“There is water on your nightstand,” Lafayette mumbles into his pillow.

“It’s warm.”

“John…”

“Please?” he whines. “I love you.”

Lafayette pushes himself up with a groan and glares down at the side of John’s head. “You are a terrible man, John Laurens.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Lafayette staggers to the door, still a little drunk, and makes his way carefully down the dark hallway, guiding himself by the glow of the Christmas tree lights coming from the living room. He grabs two bottles of water from the refrigerator and is making his way back to the bedroom when he freezes in place. At first he thinks he must be seeing things, but, as he stands stock-still and blinks at the image, it doesn’t change.

Thomas is on his back on the couch, where he’d passed out earlier, only now, Alexander is curled between his side and the cushions. More than that, they’re kissing. Lafayette can hear it, the wet sounds of their mouths, the heavy breathing, the quiet moans that must be coming from Alexander, since he can never shut up.

Thomas’s jeans are opened and Alexander’s hand is down the front of them.

Lafayette forces himself to move, to leave as quietly as he came, not let either one of them know what he’s seen. He closes the door quietly behind him and crawls up the bed from the foot and presses one of the water bottles against John’s bare arm.

John whines and pulls away as Lafayette squirms back under the covers; he sets the other bottle on his nightstand and settles into the pillows as John drinks from his. 

“Thank you, baby girl,” John murmurs, curling up against his side. “So good to me.”

Lafayette kisses his forehead and pulls him close. He falls asleep before he can think too hard about what he’s just seen.

 

\--

>   
>  **MdLafayette:** I will just throw a dart at a map soon if we do not choose our wedding location!!! My friends, where would you wish to marry??

Lafayette reads his replies on twitter and responds to people for almost twenty minutes before John texts him.

> John (10:10am): Why do you force your twitter followers to talk to me?

Lafayette snorts down at his phone. _I did not even tag you. They just love you._

> John (10:13am): I’m gonna lock my damn account again.

_But then you will miss being told how lovely you are by thousands of people a day._

> John (10:14am): How would I ever survive?

Lafayette responds with a selfie of him blowing a kiss. John sends him one with his middle finger held against his temple, chin in his hand. 

_Love you._

> John (10:17am): Love you too. Call me after your audition. And tie your hair up, it’s dry as fuck out. My hair is 100000% static.

_Oui, papa_.

Lafayette gets up from the couch and goes to shower. He follows John’s advice and puts his hair into a bun as he waits for the fog on the mirror to dissipate. It’s only when he goes to put in his contacts that he remembers that he forgot to pick up his prescription.

“Fuck,” he groans, banging his hand against the wall. He really didn’t want to wear his glasses to this, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Lafayette dresses as he usually does: casual but well. Hercules had just outfitted him for the winter the week before; he chooses dark, slim-fit jeans, and a v-neck which he hides under a soft navy and white striped sweater. He knows his shirt is going to come off at some point during his audition, so he might as well be comfortable and warm before that.

He’s just fastening his watch around his wrist (a gift from John for his most recent birthday) when his phone buzzes from the nightstand.

> John (10:40am): Take note of anyone looking at your ass so I can kill them later.

Lafayette laughs as he locks it and squeezes his wallet into his back pocket. He hasn’t been nervous about a potential job in a long time, but there is a definite curl of anxiety in his belly at the thought of landing a new contract with an American agency. The idea of leaving his French representation behind fills him with trepidation, but he knows that if he’s going to stay in the States—for any length of time—after he marries John, that he needs to find an American agency.

His fingertips dance over the picture frame on the dresser with an old photo of himself sitting on his grandmother’s lap, the both of them smiling widely for the camera. “ _Watch over me, Grandmama_ ,” he whispers before touching his lips and pressing his fingers to the glass.

He grabs his jacket, pats himself down for his keys, and heads out.

 

\--

 

Revolutionary Models came highly recommended from his French agent. He meets with the founder himself, an imposing man with a serious countenance and a face like he’s never smiled before, a man he has heard is called _The General_ in their circles. 

Luckily, the man himself, once they’re closed up, alone, in his office, is much more at ease with him. They talk for a while, about Lafayette’s expectations and The General’s—Washington, as it were—expectations of him. He wants to pick and choose his jobs, and work as much, or as little, as he wants. Washington has him take off his shirt and walk, and then gauges his level of comfort with different types of shoots. 

“You’re fairly popular in France, established, good representation,” Washington says, leaning back in his chair; he gestures a hand at his computer, “very good reputation, sizable following. You market yourself well online. Why switch now?”

Lafayette considers his response carefully. “I am getting married; my fiancé is American, his whole life and family are here. I will soon probably seek dual citizenship so that I can stay. I want to be here, with him.”

Washington nods, and after a moment, he smiles. “You seem like a good man, Gilbert. We’d be lucky to have you on our runways.”

In the end, Lafayette walks away with a flexible contract that ties him to the agency for only two years, and the freedom to do, mostly, as he chooses. 

He calls John on his way out of the building.

John answers with, “Anyone touch your ass?”

Lafayette rolls his eyes and heads quickly down the sidewalk toward the nearest subway station; it is bitterly cold today. 

“No, but my new agent is definitely papa material.”

John laughs. “What?”

“As you would say, ‘daddy’.” John’s laugh is loud and wonderful; Lafayette smiles as he lingers near the metro card machines, so he doesn’t lose service. 

“You should introduce him to Alex,” John says, grin evident in his voice.

Lafayette flashes back to the scene on their couch, just days before: Alexander half on top of Thomas, the two of them kissing and touching. The red spot on Alexander’s neck when he left in a hurry the next morning. He shakes his head to clear it.

“We should celebrate,” he says, instead.

John hums. “Where are you?”

“Midtown.”

“I’m in Queens, babe.”

“Why are you out there?”

John sighs. “I don’t even know. I was supposed to meet Alex for breakfast and he never showed. It freaked me out; you know how he gets.” 

Lafayette does. “Yes.”

“He finally answered the phone but he sounded like he’d been sick or fucking crying or something, and he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. So I had to haul ass out here to check on him, and now he’s just sleeping on the couch.”

Lafayette wonders if this has something to do with what he’d witnessed between Thomas and Alexander.

“Anyway, I don’t wanna leave him. He’s acting weird. And he’s got like… four hickeys on his neck. I think maybe he had a bad hookup or something.”

“Alexander is a big boy, my love,” Lafayette tells him. 

“I know,” John says, “but you should see him, Gil. He looks like hell.” There’s a pause and then John’s voice comes back lower than before. “What if something bad happened to him last night?”

Lafayette starts to mentally map out the trains he needs to take to get to Alexander’s apartment. 

“I’m sure he is fine, John. But I will come. Stay with him and I will bring you breakfast.” He fishes his metro card from his wallet.

John sighs again, this time sounding dreamy. “I knew I was marrying you for a reason.” Lafayette snorts. “Bring coffee, please. I swear Alex just eats the fucking grind right out of the bag because there is nothing left here.”

“You poor thing.”

“Seriously. Dunkin Donuts _pre-ground_ coffee?” John asks.

Lafayette shakes his head, looking around the bustling station. Someone bumps his arm and shouts an apology as they rush by, there is a busker with an acoustic guitar and a pretty voice, somewhere close but out of sight; Lafayette loves this city. “You are a snob, my dear.”

“Just bring me a latte and I’ll suck your dick in his bathroom. Please.”

“Deal. I’m getting on a train now, I’ll see you soon.”

John hums quietly. “Hurry.”

“Always.”

 

\--

Alexander lives with an absent roommate, who mostly uses the place as a storage facility. Lafayette has met him only a handful of times and all of them he seemed to be in a rush to leave. Lafayette can’t even remember his name (Aaron, his mind suggests) but he knows that he does… something political. 

The front door code hasn’t changed since he was last here, so he lets himself in without trouble, and takes the stairs up to Alexander’s third floor apartment two at a time. The door is wedged open with the toe of a shoe; he locks it behind himself once he steps in.

Alexander works as a paralegal while freelance writing for the _New York Times_ and teaching night classes twice a week at CUNY. He doesn’t always make his share of rent and Lafayette knows that John has paid it more than once. His apartment was probably once controlled chaos, but there are papers and notebooks on every flat surface, bags of laundry in the hall, towels from previous showers on the couch, old takeout containers littering the counter in the kitchen… it makes Lafayette want to clean every time he comes over. 

This time, Alexander is asleep on the couch, curled on his side, under a blanket. It’s clear that John has been cleaning up for him; a black garbage bag sits tied up by the front door and another one, half-full, is being stuffed with old newspapers and magazines that Alexander will likely never read. John stops what he’s doing; his shoulders slump as he lets out a breath that blows flyaway curls from his face. 

“I love you so much,” he says as Lafayette hands him one of the cups from the carrier in his hand. 

Lafayette leans down to kiss him before he glances at Alexander. “He is still asleep?”

“Yeah. Hasn’t woken up since I called you,” John says, gesturing at him with his free hand. “I wanna get him talking but I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“You’re nicer than me,” John says with a shrug.

Lafayette tisks at him and moves toward the couch; John continues his cleanup mission in the kitchen, leaving him alone with Alexander’s exhausted-looking form. The circles under his eyes are as prevalent as they ever are, his hair is greasy and tied back in a messy ponytail, and there, on his neck, is a cluster of bruises that hadn’t been there when he’d left the other day.

He sighs and shakes Alexander awake with a gentle hand.

“Alexander,” he coos, “coffee.”

Alexander’s eyes flutter and crack open. “Laf?”

Lafayette hums an affirmative. “I bring you exceptionally good coffee and a disgusting donut.”

“Bless you,” Alexander mumbles, pushing himself upright with a groan, the blanket falling away from his shoulders. His hair is flattened against his head on one side and he looks exhausted, his face paler than it usually is in the winter.

Lafayette sits beside him on the couch as John bangs around in the kitchen.

“Don’t throw all my shit away, Laurens!” Alexander hollers before taking a sip of the coffee Lafayette hands him.

“Don’t be a fucking pig!” John shouts back.

“He has a point,” Lafayette says, gesturing to the overflowing mess on the coffee table.

Alexander slumps, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Be on my side, for once.” 

Lafayette leans back against the couch and pulls Alexander with him, arm around his shoulder, holding him as he curls into Lafayette’s side. Alexander sits in silence for a minute, listening to John make an unnecessary amount of noise across the apartment, and Lafayette lets his fingers dance across the bare skin of his neck. He settles his fingertips over the cluster of bruises there and presses down a bit. Alexander goes stiff.

“Does your mood have anything to do with this?” Lafayette asks quietly. 

He can hear Alexander swallow. “Why would you think that?” he asks cautiously

“You are acting strange. John thinks maybe something… bad happen to you.”

Alexander shakes his head instantly. “No. No, nothing like that.” He rubs at his face and then rakes his hand through his hair, sending the elastic flying. “Fuck.”

“Nothing bad but…” Lafayette leads him.

Alexander follows. “But something stupid.”

“Ahh.” So Thomas, then. “We can discuss it, if you wish,” Lafayette offers. He hasn’t confronted Thomas about what he had seen, and he won’t bring it up with Alexander until he has done that, so he offers to listen instead..

A quavering sigh follows and Alexander shakes his head, letting it rest on Lafayette’s shoulder. He won’t push, won’t bring Thomas up; he maybe hopes that Alexander will trust him enough to bring it up without prompting, but he doesn’t. Alexander pulls the blanket he’d shrugged off back up around himself and curls in tighter to his side. Lafayette just holds him there, sipping his coffee, until John joins them, sitting on Alexander’s other side, wrapping an arm around him and caging him between the two of them. 

Alexander never does tell them what’s bothering him, but he’s smiling again by the time they leave.

 

\--

 

That night, John pushes him down in bed, slicks himself up on his own fingers, and rides him. John holds himself steady with his hands on Lafayette’s chest, digging in with his nails, as he rocks his hips. Lafayette holds onto his thighs and just tries to breathe. John is beautiful, sweaty curls stick to his temples as he moves, his muscles straining and releasing.

“Perfect,” Lafayette breathes, watching him through half-lidded eyes, listening to the litany of quiet moans that accompany every movement of his hips.

John sucks at his own bottom lip and redoubles his efforts, their skin smacking together as he brings them both closer to the edge. Lafayette wraps a hand around him and strokes him off, even as John cries out and tells him, “no, no, no, baby girl, this is for you. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

He comes before Lafayette, but keeps moving, even as his entire body shakes, until Lafayette spills inside of him with a quiet cry of his name. John pulls off and slumps down at his side, overly hot and breathless. Lafayette tugs him closer and kisses his forehead.

“That was wonderful. Thank you,” Lafayette says with a grin. John smacks his chest.

When they get their breath back, John tilts his head up and tells him, “I’m proud of you.”

“For my incredible stamina? I am proud of me too.”

John gives his nipple a twist, making him jerk away. “No, you ass. For your contract. I didn’t say it earlier.”

“So you ride me to congratulate me? Sounds more like a reward for you,” Lafayette teases.

John pulls him down into a kiss with both hands, fingers curled around his ears. “I mean it,” John tells him, voice soft and serious, pupils still blown out. “I’m so glad you wanna stay.”

Lafayette tucks John against him and kisses him again, chaste and hard. “Of course I want to stay.”

John makes a quiet sound and presses his face to Lafayette’s throat.

 

\--

 

“Maybe we should just marry here,” Lafayette says, for what feels like the hundredth time. He glances over the top of his iPad at John as he brushes his hair out. 

“If you don’t want to go to France, we don’t have to, Gil,” he says, piling his curls up on the top of his head. He looks adorable and ridiculous.

Lafayette has resulted to actually heeding the advice of his twitter followers and is looking up suggested places in New York to get married. 

“I always want to go to France,” he says, nudging his glasses back up. “But now it is nearly Christmas and we are running out of time to do it before the new year comes.” 

John crawls up the foot of the bed and collapses on his stomach, squirming around until he’s burrowed under Lafayette’s arm to rest his head on his chest. 

“The Empire State Building? Really?” John asks, reaching out to scroll through the replies himself. 

“This is giving me a headache,” he grumbles, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He really needs to go pick up his contacts. John’s phone rings on the nightstand and he sighs, unmoving for a few moments before he drags himself over to it with a groan.

“Hi, daddy.”

Lafayette sets his tablet aside and folds his glasses on top of it. He settles into the pillows to listen.

“God, how fucking nosy are your aides?” John asks, blowing out a breath before looking at Lafayette; he holds the phone away from his mouth (though he doesn’t lower his voice any), and tells him, “One of my dad’s loser interns has been reading your tweets.”

Christ.

“I don’t know, daddy,” John sighs. Lafayette can hear Henry’s voice but not what he’s saying. “I said I don’t know. We haven’t decided.” More muffled words he can’t understand. “I don’t wanna get married back home.” John flops over on his back to stare at the ceiling as his father rambles in his ear; Lafayette strokes at his belly, under his shirt and kisses his shoulder. “Well, we might not even stay here. We might go to France.”

At that, John’s father starts yelling and John lets his phone hand drop to the mattress. Lafayette takes it from him.

“Henry,” he says, stopping the triad. “Is this call really about my twitter, of all things?”

“Lafayette, put my son back on.”

“You’re upsetting him.”

Henry takes an audible breath. “Lafayette. I thought we were coming to an understanding. Don’t piss me off, here.”

“Henry, jesus. It’s not your wedding.”

John snatches the phone back from him. “If we elope it’ll be because you drove me insane enough to do it.” Henry shouts something and John talks over him. “Goodnight, daddy.” He powers off his phone and tosses it on the floor.

John covers his face with both hands and lets out a groan that becomes increasingly more like a scream, the louder and longer it goes on. Lafayette wraps a tight arm around him and pulls him onto his side, against his chest, muffling John’s sounds. His whole body shakes and Lafayette knows that he’s crying. He strokes John’s hair and squeezes his neck, kisses the top of his head, tries to soothe him.

“Just marry me, Gil,” John says when he finally lifts his head for a breath. “Please. I don’t give a shit anymore. Let’s just go do it.”

“It’s after midnight,” Lafayette murmurs, holding him tightly still. 

John groans and pushes his face into Lafayette’s neck. “I just wanna _do_ it.”

“We will, my darling,” Lafayette assures him. “Not when you are so upset with your father, but we will.”

John goes quiet after that. Lafayette holds him until he moves away to crawl under the blankets.

 

\--

 

Christmas is a blessedly quiet affair. Alexander comes over in the afternoon and Lafayette cooks for the three of them. Thomas stops by briefly, at Lafayette’s insistence, and neither he nor Alexander will look at each other. He bites his tongue and focuses his attention on enjoying this time with his fiancé and friends.

Alexander is asleep with his head on John’s shoulder when Thomas leaves, so Lafayette follows him out into the hallway.

“What’s up? You’ve been weird all day,” Thomas says.

“John wants to get married now. I was thinking maybe I surprise him with it but I don’t know what to do,” Lafayette says quietly. “Maybe New Year’s Eve? I could take him somewhere.”

“Courts are closed. You’d have to wait,” Thomas says, crossing his arms and looking thoughtful. “We could get it taken care of right after the New Year, though, on the second.”

Lafayette deflates a little; he wants to give this to John now. 

“I’ll help you, Laf,” Thomas says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He sounds so sure, so calm about it, that Lafayette’s heart is bolstered a bit; he nods. “The most important question, though… You askin’ me to be your best man?”

Lafayette rolls his eyes, grinning a little. “Will you stand up for me, Thomas?”

He finds himself pulled into a tight hug, which he returns easily and eagerly. “Always,” Thomas assures him, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Always, my man.”

 

\--

 

Lafayette drags John out of bed the next morning, plies him with the expensive, free-trade coffee that he likes, and lets him drowse against him on the train uptown to the clerk’s office. They apply for their marriage license together, Lafayette’s fingers still stiff from the cold, and John’s hand shaking as he signs his name.

“Are you sure?” Lafayette asks after they step away from the counter. 

“I’m not scared or unsure or… whatever,” John says quietly, leaning up to kiss him. “I can’t wait, Gil.”

Their twenty-four hour waiting period has started.

 

\--

 

“Of course this asshole lives in the southern tip,” John says when they get out of the cab, onto the slush-covered sidewalk.

“Behave,” Lafayette tells him, adjusting his hat and taking John’s hand after he closes the car door. 

“95 Wall,” John mutters. “What a dick.” Lafayette ushers John inside the lobby and heads for the elevator. “This is ridiculous, look at this place. Marble floors. Come on.”

Lafayette tugs John’s scarf down and kisses him as the elevator dings behind them. “You will make me feel inferior if you keep this up.”

John huffs and lets Lafayette pull him in. “But seriously. Who has a suit and tie New Year’s Eve party?”

“John, will you please try to have fun? He is my friend, you know.” 

At that, John looks properly chastised. “Yes, dear,” he says, letting Lafayette take his hand again and lead him out of the elevator when it opens again. 

Thomas greets them at the door with a glass of wine in hand, using the other to pull Lafayette into a hug. 

“Glad you two could make it,” he says, letting go to hug John next. He must be drunk already. 

John awkwardly pats him on the back before he’s let go. “Uhh, thanks,” he says, shrugging his jacket and scarf. 

“Second bedroom,” he announces, pointing down the hall. “Drinks in the kitchen,” he gestures the other way. “Have fun, boys.” And then he is disappearing back into the modest crowd of people. 

There seems to be someone either he or Lafayette knows everywhere they look. Friends of John’s from Columbia, a few of the models that Lafayette has actually made friends with from the few shoots he has done since signing his new contract. Even Alexander is present, though he looks harried, holding a beer that he’s peeled the label off of and rubbing incessantly at his neck with the other. There’s a fresh hickey trying to hide, on his chest, under the low collar of the v-neck he’s wearing under his suit coat. Thomas is apparently a vampire.

One of Thomas’s friends, the quiet one, James, who has the misfortune of always looking queasy, brings them both a glass of wine and then disappears again. John stays at his side, arm around his waist, drifting in and out of conversation as different people speak to them in turn. Alexander remains close by, picking at the throat of his shirt, and not speaking much.

“We don’t have to stay all night,” Lafayette says again when John hasn’t drifted so much as a foot away in the hour since they arrived.

“I’m fine,” John assures, still looking around the room. “It’s just weird, don’t you think? How does Jefferson know half of these people?”

Lafayette gazes around the room; John does have a point. “He must know your friends from the circles you two run in.”

“We’re not very like-minded.”

“No, but I imagine that politics is not a huge world.”

John hums and leans against his side. Lafayette kisses his cheek. “’s not so bad, I guess,” he says after a moment of watching the room. 

“That’s the spirit,” Lafayette grins, draining his glass and setting it down on a nearby end table. He turns to pull John against him when he freezes. Henry Laurens is making his way across the room toward them. “I need another drink,” he says, taking John by the arm and pulling him along. 

“Gil—ow, Gil, you’re hurting me,” John says, tugging against his grip. Lafayette lets go once they’re alone in the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” he asks, rubbing his bicep.

Lafayette watches as Henry steps in behind them. The kitchen isn’t a closed off space, but it’s mostly separated from the living room by a wall in the middle, leaving either side open to enter from. He hopes there isn’t going to be a lot of yelling.

John turns when he sees where Lafayette is looking. 

“Daddy…” John says quietly, sounding taken aback. “What are you—why are you here? How the hell did you know where we were?”

Henry nods at Lafayette and then makes an aborted gesture toward his son. “Boys,” he greets, sounding awkward.

“Daddy, why are you here?” John repeats. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Jacky, just… give me a second, okay? I’ve been running this over in my head for a fucking week now and I still don’t know the right thing to say,” Henry says, running a hand through his hair. The gray at his temples is much more obvious in the bright light of Thomas’s kitchen.

“How do you know Thomas?” Lafayette asks.

“I don’t. Not really. I see him at events sometimes, but that’s not the point. Just… listen. Both of you. Please.”

Lafayette takes John’s hand when John reaches over to him, lacing their fingers and squeezing. Henry watches it before looking between the two of them, letting his gaze settle on John.

“This hasn’t been an easy road for me,” he says. “When John came out, he shoved it down my throat like he was trying to choke me with it.”

“Daddy—“

“Let me talk, Jack.” John closes his mouth. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, even when you tried to make it difficult.” John bites his lip and Lafayette squeezes his hand again. Henry runs his fingers through his hair again and sticks his hand in his pocket. “You two don’t have to run away from me to get married. I’d actually prefer it if you didn’t.”

“I’m afraid of what’ll happen if we don’t,” John says quietly as Thomas appears in the kitchen entryway and leans against the cabinet, arms folded loosely against his plum dress shirt.

Henry shakes his head minutely. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” He glances over his shoulder, drawing John’s attention to Thomas. 

Lafayette hasn’t been so confused since he started learning English. “What is going on here?” he asks.

Thomas pushes himself off the counter and steps up beside John’s father. “Tell ‘em, Laurens,” he says without looking at Henry.

Henry looks nervous and it’s setting Lafayette on edge.

He clears his throat and straightens his back. “You shouldn’t have to run away to France to get married. Your mother, god rest her soul, would have killed me, if I let you do that.” John’s fingers tighten around his own. “Your friends here,” he gestures at Thomas.

“Hamilton too,” Thomas says.

“Put this together.”

“Put _what_ together?” John asks, losing his patience.

Henry steps forward and lays both hands on John’s shoulders. “I don’t want to drive you away from me, John. You’re my baby boy, no matter what. I’m here to see you get married.”

“What?” John asks again, voice going quiet and choked.

“I called in a favor from a judge. He’s out there now.”

John looks completely lost, glances back at Lafayette, who looks to Thomas. Who rolls his eyes.

“Oh for god’s sake—we put this shit together so you two could get married _tonight_. Right now,” Thomas says, gesturing back toward the living room with both hands. 

John looks at his father. “Really?” he whispers. “You’re serious?”

Henry cuffs him lightly on the chin. “As a heart attack.”

There is a tense moment where none of them moves, and then John lets go of Lafayette’s hand to throw his arms around his father. Lafayette claps Henry on the shoulder on his way passed to Thomas. 

“I cannot believe you’ve done this,” he says. 

Thomas takes his hand in a tight squeeze and plants his other hand on his shoulder. “You asked me to stand up for you, man. That’s what I did.”

“Gil,” John says, drawing his attention away. John is standing there, looking at him like he’s afraid to be this excited, his eyes wide and damp, hopeful. “Will you? Can we?”

Lafayette closes the distance between them in two steps and takes John’s head in his hands, leaning down to kiss him. “Anything for you, love,” he whispers when they break apart.

John is practically vibrating, grinning, looking so lovely that it makes Lafayette’s heart ache. He wants to hold him here forever, preserve this moment and keep it always.

A cough from the entryway draws their attention. Alexander is standing there, looking expectant. “We’ve got like ten minutes to get you two married before the ball drops.”

“Shall we?” Lafayette asks, holding out his arm to John.

He takes it and whispers, “Cur non?”

 

\--

 

It takes just a minute, a quick sentence from the both of them that they’ll love, honor and respect until their dying days, and then they kiss. The room is filled with applause, some people hooting and hollering as Lafayette leans John back in a dramatic display that has him laughing into his mouth. And Lafayette is married to the love of his life.

Just like that.

 

\--

 

“If y’all two fuck in my bed, I will kill you both,” Thomas says when Lafayette approaches him soon after midnight. 

Lafayette hugs him. “Actually, we’re leaving to go fuck in our bed.”

“Your marriage bed.”

Lafayette grins. “I cannot thank you enough, my friend.”

“No thanks necessary,” Thomas assures him. 

“You and Alexander have found your peace with one another, it seems,” Lafayette says quietly. “Working together to do this for us.”

“Don’t,” Thomas warns.

Lafayette doesn’t want to turn this into an argument so he concedes. “I do hope you will talk to me about this eventually.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Thomas says quietly. “Just let it go.”

“For now,” Lafayette agrees. Thomas turns his cheek slightly and Lafayette kisses it and then the other. “Thank you, Thomas.”

“Go fuck your man.”

Lafayette laughs. “Maybe you will fuck yours as well?” He dodges away from the swat Thomas aims in his direction, and goes to collect his husband. Henry is going home in the morning but Lafayette promises to bring John down to the family estate in the summer to renew their vows in something more traditional. John doesn’t outright agree but Lafayette knows that he’s too pleased with his father right now to disappoint him.

“Take care of my boy,” Henry says in his ear when Lafayette hugs him.

“I will. Papa.” 

Henry rolls his eyes and then shakes his head. 

Lafayette hugs Alexander goodnight and kisses him on the forehead, while John is saying goodbye to his father. 

“Be good,” he says.

“Am I ever?”

“Be _safe_ , Alexander. Please.” Alexander’s eyes dart over his shoulder and Lafayette can only imagine that he’s looking at Thomas. When their gazes meet again, he’s certain that Alexander knows that Lafayette knows. 

“I’ll try,” he finally whispers.

Lafayette kisses his cheeks and takes John by the hand. They head out into the night, married men.

 

\--

 

“Do I become a Marquis now?” John asks, leaning against his shoulder on the taxi ride back to their apartment.

Lafayette smiles softly and nods an affirmative. “You do.”

John hums, turning his head up to kiss the underside of Lafayette’s jaw. “I’ll have to change my twitter handle.”

Lafayette laughs quietly into his curls.

 

\--

 

Lafayette posts a picture of him kissing John after being announced lawfully wed to instagram and twitter when they crawl into bed that night. 

> _Our friends surprised us with a wedding tonight!!! He is mine and I am his FOREVER! Happy New Year’s, friends! I hope you all find a love like mine ☺_

“You’re so sweet it makes my fucking teeth hurt,” John says, watching him type out the caption, head pillowed on his chest. 

“Only to you,” Lafayette grins, setting his phone aside and squirming down until they’re both lying on the same pillow.

“Only me and everyone else you meet.” John nudges their noses together.

Lafayette kisses him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling John slightly on top of him. John kisses him back, fingers in his hair, pulling lightly, and moaning against his lips. His weight is familiar and warm and always so good. Lafayette doesn’t want to move ever again. 

“I can’t believe we’re actually married,” John murmurs, kissing down his jaw to his neck; he sucks at Lafayette’s pulse, making his breath catch.

“Oh, love, please,” Lafayette whispers, arching his neck into the wet lave of John’s tongue. “I want you, but I am so tired. I cannot—as you deserve—“

“Shh,” John quiets him, kissing at his open lips. “Let me take care of you.”

“John—“

“Roll over,” John says, kneeling up to give him the room to do so. 

Lafayette hesitates for only a moment before he does as John instructs. The sheets are pulled back and Lafayette shivers as his skin is exposed. John straddles his thighs and leans over him to mouth at his spine, nipping and sucking as he moves slowly lower. His hands are big and soft, squeezing and rubbing at his skin, fingers tracing over his ribs and Lafayette squirms, his dick starting to respond to the attention.

John moves lower, tugging Lafayette’s pajama bottoms down as he goes. He lifts first one leg and then the other, to strip him bare.

“Will you fuck me?” Lafayette asks, voice rasping in his throat. He tries to look over his shoulder at John, who spreads a hand over the small of his back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the chilled skin there.

“Is that what you want?”

Lafayette clears his throat. “I think you were going to, are you not?” 

John grins up at him, letting his voice go even lower, a little taunting. “I will, baby,” he practically croons. “I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

“Only if _you_ want,” Lafayette groans, rolling his hips against the mattress. John presses down with both hands and holds him still.

“I want to. I also really wanna eat your ass until you come.”

Lafayette pinches his eyes shut and reaches up to curl the fingers of one hand over the edge of the headboard. He lets out a breath and tries to think of his response in English.

“You will fuck me after, yes?” he whispers.

“Promise.”

John crawls between his legs and arranges Lafayette how he wants him — on his knees with his ass in the air, thighs spread far enough that he can feel the pull in his muscles. He keeps his eyes shut as John spreads his cheeks and leans in to lick him. There is nothing like this. No one has ever done this to him the way that John does, so enthusiastically, so perfectly, so much like it’s almost better for him than it is for Lafayette. He moans against Lafayette’s skin, pushes in with his tongue, and leaves him dripping wet, saliva running down his perineum to his balls. 

Lafayette wants so badly to touch himself, his cock hanging heavily between his legs, pulsing every time that John hums against him or pulls back with a sucking kiss to his entrance. He can feel the head of his cock dripping, his foreskin pulled back, leaving him exposed. His entire body is thrumming with the need to come. He wants it so badly, and when John’s fingers slide in and hold him open, letting his tongue press in even further, he nearly comes on the spot.

“Wait, wait—John, stop,” he gasps, thighs shaking as he tries to hold them open.

John sits back on his heels, breathing heavily, hands curled around his hips. “You okay?” he asks, voice shot to hell and back.

“Please,” he asks, looking over his shoulder at John’s face, flushed and slick with his own spit. “Jacky, please. I want to come with you in me.”

John doesn’t hesitate, climbing off the bed to get the lube from the nightstand. “You want a condom, baby girl?” 

Lafayette shudders. “No. Make a mess of me, Jack,” Lafayette murmurs into the pillow, wiping his sweaty forehead against the pillowcase.

“Fuck,” John swears, voice shaky as he clambers back between Lafayette’s legs. “How do you want it, Gil?” has asks, palming his flank.

“I do not care, Jacky, _please_ ,” he whines. The tension in his belly is getting unbearable, his cock aching with his heartbeat, dripping onto the bed sheets.

John’s touch leaves him and the bed dips as his weight leaves it; Lafayette almost screams his frustration. Hands grip at his hips and tug him toward the edge of the bed. 

“Gil, baby, come on, come here,” John urges, pulling him to his feet. Lafayette’s vision swims as he’s pulled upright, his knees feeling weak and his spine like it’s been replaced with jelly. 

“Where?” he asks, blinking blearily down at John. 

“Can you stand?”

“What?”

“While I fuck you, can you stand?” John asks.

Lafayette swallows to wet his throat. “Yes, I think.”

John leads him by the hand into the bathroom and flicks on the light. He’s almost ready to ask John what he intends to do, when his hands are on him again, maneuvering him around until he’s bent over the counter and John is sliding a pair of slick fingers inside of him. Lafayette’s hand slaps against the mirror to brace himself and he moans. John fucks him with his fingers, getting him slick, letting it drip down his thighs; it’s filthy and he loves it.

“Jacky, oh… darling, please,” he begs, and John’s fingers slip out. He hears John stroke his cock, getting it wet for him, and he wishes that he could see it. 

“Spread your legs,” John instructs, and Lafayette does, bending further into the counter, feeling the edge dig into his hipbones; his cock is pressed uncomfortably against the cupboards beneath it, but he doesn’t complain.

John’s positions himself and pushes in easily. His cock is a little short but so thick, the stretch of it delicious, sparking along his spine, making his mouth fall open and his eyes shut. Lafayette’s hand shakes against the mirror as he holds himself steady.

John goes still when his hips are flush with Lafayette’s ass, and Lafayette lets his head drop between his shoulders. 

“You feel bigger every time,” Lafayette rasps, shoulders hunched as John begins to pull out. John’s fingers curl around his hips to hold him steady and he begins to thrust, pushing sharp, staccato “oh”s out of Lafayette with every push. “John…” he whispers, trailing off, pinching his eyes shut to focus on the feel of it, John’s dick sliding in and out of him. 

“You’re so tight,” John groans, leaning over his back. He adjusts his grip, holding Lafayette still with a hand on his hip, and the other pulling him down, by the shoulder, against his thrusts. “Fuck, you’re always so tight.”

“Yes,” Lafayette gasps, his fingers squeaking against the mirror as his palm begins to sweat. 

“You like being bent over for me, don’t you?” John asks.

Lafayette’s exhale is more like a sob than anything else. “Yes,” he says, sounding like a plea. His cock is rubbing painfully against his thigh and the cupboard, aching and still dripping, his balls growing tighter by the second.

“John, I cannot—please, I will soon come.”

John redoubles his pace, grabbing Lafayette by the chin and forcing his head up. “Look at yourself,” John demands breathlessly. “Open your eyes and look.”

Lafayette is powerless to resist. He does as he’s told and cracks his eyes open, blinking away sweat. He wipes his curls away from his temples before he grabs the counter again, trying to brace himself against John’s thrusts, getting harder and harder behind him. 

“God, _Gil_ ,” John whimpers, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “We’re married, you’re mine. Fuck, you’re _mine_.”

Lafayette’s orgasm is knocked out of him, John’s words an unexpected push over the edge. He fumbles his hand between himself and the counter, trying to catch his release, but quickly giving up so that he can stroke himself through it. He spurts over his fingers, onto the cabinet, the floor, even his own feet, and it feels so fucking good. He cries out, banging his fist against the mirror, his entire body shaking as he comes apart.

John fucks him through it, chest plastered to his back and his breathing erratic against the side of his neck, until it starts to hurt. Lafayette takes a gasping breath and shakes his head, only just getting out John’s name, before John pulls out of him and stumbles back against the far wall, one hand curled around his dick.

Lafayette stays bent over the counter, breathing harsh, rattling in his chest, for a few moments, until his vision clears and he can see the reflection of John behind him. He’s still hard, his chest heaving as he touches himself.

“Gil,” he rasps, his voice a simple plea.

Lafayette turns and folds to his knees, bracing his hands against John’s thighs, and sits back on his heels. 

“Come for your husband,” he whispers, tilting his head and opening his mouth. 

John swears, stroking himself in a tight grip, and does as he’s told. Lafayette closes his eyes, feeling John’s come striping his face, over his cheek, on his tongue, and down the front of his throat. John sags against the wall, gasping for breath, as he lets go of his cock. Lafayette climbs, unsteadily, to his feet, and kisses him. John sucks the taste of his own come off of his tongue and Lafayette moans, pulling back to kiss him lightly, over and over. 

“You are filthy,” Lafayette tells him with a grin.

“Sorry,” John says, voice still shaky as he regains his breath.

“Do not apologize.”

“You wanted me to come in you.

Lafayette snorts a laugh against John’s cheek, smearing the streak of come there against John’s skin. John groans but kisses him back, when Lafayette slots their mouths together again. 

“There will be a lifetime for that,” Lafayette assures him, pecking him on the nose. John’s grin is beautiful and contagious. Lafayette swats him on the ass. “Now start the shower. You’ve worn me out; I must sleep.”

John follows his instruction with a fond smile and a roll of his eyes. 

 

\--

 

They do, eventually, wind up in France together. Lafayette’s New Year’s wedding picture of the two of them sparked a veritable wildfire of interest back in Europe. Offers to buy their wedding photos come to him through Washington, and requests for a few interviews reach his email inbox. In the end, they choose only one, and they’re featured in a four page spread in French _Vogue_. 

The pictures are ridiculous and wonderful, done in the style of an engagement announcement, all taken at Lafayette’s historic family estate. John tends to hide most of his face in every shot, uncomfortable with the attention, though he’d agreed to the shoot without much more than a breath of hesitation. 

In Lafayette’s favorite, they’re both sitting barefoot on the floor, Lafayette facing the camera, head turned toward John; his left hand flat on the floor between them, his ring visible. John sits next to him, facing the opposite direction. His view would be the expansive gardens beyond the house, if he were looking out the window; instead, his focus is on Lafayette, a sweet smile on his lips, a little shy, a lot in love. His hand is over Lafayette’s heart, his ring also on display.

It’s lovely. It’s surreal.

In the article, they tell their story. Lafayette has forever been candid with his own life on twitter, but here John contributes to their history in his own words. His French is lovely, though beautifully accented, markedly American. He speaks for himself and lets Lafayette fill in the small blanks for him. 

John shrugs off the question of his sexuality without answering, and Lafayette reiterates his claim of not really caring about his own. _You've had girlfriends in the past_ , the interviewer says. _"Yes, and now I am married to a man I could only ever hope existed, when I was growing up. I love him with my full heart."_

In the interest of John André's privacy, Lafayette only briefly touches on the two months that they spent dating while he and his John had broken up.

There’s a ridiculously touristy photo of the two of them at the Eiffel Tower, where John has his face completely buried in his hands and Lafayette has his head tossed back in laughter. He’s holding onto John’s biceps with both hands and he can’t, for the life of him remember what had made him laugh so hard or made John flush and hide. They’d taken this one on their own, the day before the interview. The entire thing felt like a wonderful dream.

 _You’re both so young,_ reads a line toward the end, _don’t either of you feel as though you may miss out on something by settling down so soon?_

John’s response is a serious, _”no”_ , while Lafayette expands on it a bit. _”I fell in love with John within minutes of meeting him. We’ve been together for three years and I have never once doubted what I feel. I would only be missing something if I hadn’t married him as soon as I could._

The article ends with the interviewer asking John if he is happy with his decision to marry the slightly notorious French model with the penchant for posing nude.

_Here, the newly-minted Marquis looks to his husband. He answers with a soft smile and a simple, “transcendently”._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated :)


End file.
